


Do Not Listen To The Blue Dragon

by Bowser_Sourpuss_Bread



Series: Blue Dragon AU [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, But it does complicate Katara's feelings about Zuko, Canon Disabled Character, Canonical Child Abuse, Depiction of medical emergency, Disability, Disabled Character, Don't worry they're all friends in the end, Enough to make a tea shop!, Gaang (Avatar) as Family, Heart Attacks, I mean it's Zuko, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Iroh (Avatar) loves Tea, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, POV Zuko (Avatar), Past Aang/Katara (Avatar), Past Suicidal Thoughts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Suicide, The Jasmine Dragon serves both tea and non-tea, There's no ill will, Zuko is a chef!, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25182361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowser_Sourpuss_Bread/pseuds/Bowser_Sourpuss_Bread
Summary: Uncle has a new favorite customer.Community college student Zuko works at his Uncle's tea shop, The Jasmine Dragon, near the University of Ba Sing Se. Well, now it's more than just a tea shop. Under his co-ownership, it's expanded into making food. It's no big deal. He's working on a culinary arts degree to make the food better. At this point in his life, Zuko is happy.But when Uncle's new favorite customer blows in, Zuko realizes that he can be happier....---Chapter 10 out of 10 up! Updated Fridays!
Relationships: Aang/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki (Avatar)
Series: Blue Dragon AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824343
Comments: 22
Kudos: 230





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Internalized ableism and racism within. I think it's pretty standard Zuko stuff ("People hate the Fire Nation. My face—my scar—screams Fire Nation. Thus, yeah, people should hate me."), but I figure I should warn for it nonetheless!

Uncle has a new favorite customer.

This isn’t strange. Uncle is kind, charismatic, and charming in a knows-you-way-too-well way. College students are, categorically, tired, in need of some kindness, feeling worthless, and, most of all, desperate for the type of all-seeing-but-at-the-same-time-optimistic wisdom that is Uncle’s specialty. I would know. I mean, just because I don’t go to the same school as most of our customer base doesn’t mean I don’t understand. I’ve been, categorically, a college student for years: tired, in need of some kindness, feeling worthless, and desperate for the type of all-seeing-but-at-the-same-time-optimistic wisdom that is Uncle’s specialty.

But I guess, by that definition, we’re all college students, then, aren’t we?

If “college student” is the status of the human condition, I’m at the point where I’ve accepted that Cs still get degrees.

I dispensed that wisdom to Uncle. He smiled at me. Uncle has a lot of different smiles. There’s the thank-you-for-humoring-me smile. There’s the thank-goodness- _that_ -person-is-gone smile. There’s the you’re-almost-there smile. There’s the I-knew-you-could-do-it smile. He’s been giving me a lot more of those types of smiles lately.

I think the smile he gave to me was the you’re-becoming-quite-the-advice-giver-yourself smile. Or maybe it was the keep-working-on-it one.

I think the biggest thing is that I look for his smiles to gauge what I’m doing less and less. So I’m calling it the good-job-Zuko smile and forging on.

Over the nine years I’ve lived with him (It feels like it’s not long enough), Uncle subtly shown the power of his smile. And he has begun not so subtly advertising my own smile, telling all his favorite customers about how “talented” I am.

I’m at the point where I’m not angry about that. I understand that he’s telling the truth—as far as he knows it. But smiles are not one of my talents. My smile is tense. My smile is unsure. My smile is ugly.

My face is that of the Fire Nation.

This is something I’m not sure Uncle will ever be able to understand: While he can fly under the radar under the guise of “sweet old man” (a role he plays so well because lying has never been one of his talents), I can not. Best case scenario, my face fits the stereotype of the grizzled Fire Nation soldier boy. Worst case scenario, they know my name before I even turn around.

_Zuko_ ’s face is that of the Fire Nation. And no one wants to see the Fire Nation’s smile.

So I don’t smile. In the best case scenario, I don’t even show my face. I don’t mind. It’s freeing, in fact, to be an anonymous author of other people’s smiles. Sweet old man Iroh is the face of The Jasmine Dragon, but since I made my choice under the solar eclipse, I’ve become the body that runs it. It is my eyes that decides the layout. (And my legs that push and pull the furniture. The exercise is good for me, since I don’t like to go to the gym.) It is my ears that determines the music. (Uncle’s favorite music, as it would turn out, have been unanimously declared to be “oldies but goodies.” Uncle has claimed that title to describe himself as well.) It is my hands that make all of the food. (The tea will always be Uncle’s jurisdiction.) It isn’t a relationship of a puppeteer pulling the strings. We liken it more to a symbiotic relationship between animals. The oxpecker does the clerical duties—cleaning the skin, stimulating blood flow—so the mighty rhinoceros can bring in the crowds of adoring tourists.

Most of our customers are college students, but most of those college students are tourists too: sampling “Fire Nation cuisine,” learning “Fire Nation customs,” and making “Fire Nation friends.” Those students are certainly getting an education in our culture of two.

Uncle’s favorite customers aren’t tourists. Uncle’s favorite customers are the students who bring the same curiosity and open-mindedness that they (categorically are supposed to) bring to their studies that they do to their day-to-day lives. These are the students who have learned the lesson that transformed Uncle into the person he is today: Everything is connected.

I like that lesson. I’ve learned it, I think. I hope. It could be one of those lessons that’s constantly being taught.

That doesn’t mean I like all of my fellow pupils. They’re not bad people. Uncle never likes bad people. They just tend to be… loud people. Sometimes, it’s their voices, yes, but more often than that, it’s simply their presences.

Some people can fill a room even when they’re just tucked away in a corner. Most people who do this can’t control it. They’re not bad people. They’re just overwhelming people.

Take Jin, who graduated last year, always trying to strike up a conversation with me from across the room. She never asked bad questions. Not “Isn’t it better here?” Not “Why don’t you smile?” And _never_ “How did you get that scar?” It was just a lot. Mostly because it was so _obvious_ that she liked me.

I mean, it was obvious once Uncle pointed it out. Once I realized that someone could like post-burning Zuko (pre-burning Zuko was considered quite the catch, apparently), I made the connection. It was a textbook case of attraction.

A _heterosexual_ case of attraction. I don’t think I am heterosexual, but I also haven’t been in a relationship (heterosexual because if it was anything else, Ozai wouldn’t have left a face behind) since the burning, so I can look at and watch men all I want, but can I really know until I’ve done it? And who would want to be in a relationship with the face of the Fire Nation?

I’ve been thinking about that question a lot. Because I’m happy now. I really am. Not a child’s conception of happiness: constant smiles, exaltation by everybody, the belief that you are now above being wrong. But a sustainable happiness: shared occasional smiles, complete trust in a select few (One counts as “few”!), and the recognition that you can always choose for the wrong choice not to be the end of the story.

But I’m thinking that I would be happi _er_ if I could be in a relationship with Aang Beridze, Uncle’s new favorite customer.


	2. Chapter 2

Aang Beridze calls him “Sir Iroh.” Never “sir,” though, thank goodness for that. “Sir” is a greeting used in the Fire Nation military. “Sir” is aloof. “Sir” is terse. Most of all, “sir” is interchangeable: It pays no attention to who—male, female, other, old, young, somewhere-in-between, idealistic, pragmatic, realistic—is wearing the uniform.

“Sir Iroh,” however, is an invitation to the man who once wore the uniform. I remember, though, that it started with Uncle issuing an invitation of his own: “Aang!” (Aang had insisted that Uncle call him by his first name.) “Come play Pai Sho with me!” (It was the first step in his initiation.)

No one plays Pai Sho  _ with _ Uncle. Not at first. It’s a popular game—among his demographic. There aren’t too many in Uncle’s age group at the University of Ba Sing Se. (Students, anyway. Professors have money to spend elsewhere.) And even among the few students who do know the game, they don’t know how Uncle plays it. It’s not even a case of not knowing how The Fire Nation plays it. It’s just that Pai Sho is a ridiculously obtuse game with so many regional variations and secret societies based around it that, really, just play one of those gatcha phone games. Those maintain the “challenge to master” that Uncle so praises while actually being easy enough to learn that you can get right down to the conversation, which is the whole reason why you play Pai Sho anyway!

It’s the whole reason why Uncle plays Pai Sho, anyway. He isn’t a gambling man.

I hate Pai Sho. All of Uncle’s favorite customers get bewitched by it.

Aang was no different. Transfixed by Uncle’s (in)famous White Lotus Tile, he was helpless as it destroyed his composition. Instead of being upset—or even demanding to know why—he declared that they needed to play again.

They only got halfway through that second game when someone else finally came in, (It was a slow day that day, but not as slow as Uncle had clearly anticipated.) but the spell had wrapped its tendrils around Aang’s innocent mind and ensnared him.

As Uncle got up to address the customer—a regular with a regularly bad attitude—though, the illusion shattered: He accidentally jostled the table, and the White Lotus Tile rolled across the room, into one of the grates. Uncle noticed, of course, but he could not mourn his loss. The customer was already ridiculing him as “a lazy old man who can’t even work a whole shift”—as if they weren’t a trust fund kid.

When the customer left with their order, however, Aang remained behind. “I got your Pai Sho tile back!” Uncle was astonished. The grate’s bars were so thin, and the grate was on the floor, and it must have hurt his back..! “It wasn’t a problem,” the student explained, smiling. “Not for my tiny hands!” Suddenly, he registered the time. “Oh no, I’m late!” Just as suddenly, he was bowing. “May I learn your strategy next time, Sir Iroh.”

In a flash, he was dashing out of The Jasmine Dragon and towards the campus.

That night, as we closed down the restaurant, I confronted Uncle about the test. “Did that go well? Because Mx.-Arbiter-of-Productivity wasn’t part of the plan.”

“They weren’t,” Uncle agreed. “But they might just have to be! The suspense of needing to come back to get the re-match..!” His laugh was deep, like a dragon’s roar.

Aang came back the next day for his re-match. He returned the day after that for best two out of three. But after that, it was no longer a competition. It was a classroom. Sir Iroh became not Sir Iroh, the great knight of Pai Sho, but Sir Iroh, the wizened sage of human nature… and Pai Sho.

Uncle would argue that they’re the same thing.

I disagree. People are inherently competitive, but people have never gotten  _ violent _ over Pai Sho. ...Have they?

People have gotten pissy over it, though. That’s why Uncle uses Pai Sho as a test. Uncle is willing to spend a lot of time giving information—even when it’s Spirits-damned obvious—but, in return, he wants patience.

I thank all the Spirits’ stars that I got to skip that test, as a member of the family. I would have flunked it. Heck, I know I’d still fail it.

Patience, as Uncle is keen to remind me, is a skill I am still cultivating. I don’t know. I think there’s value in just sitting down and saying, “Hey! I like you!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some references to Ozai. (Yes, Zuko still got his scar from his father in this AU.) Also some more internalized ableism.

I can’t talk to him. He’s only been going here for, what, three months? That’s a season. That’s not even, like, a real pregnancy—never mind a full year. Uncle always says that the years are the best teacher!

Yes, Uncle would agree with this course of action—never mind that he has been staring at me with an oh-this-is-funny smile. In between waves of customers, I confront him about it. “What!?” I demand. At his I-am-just-an-innocent-and-sweet-old-man-smile (which is never convincing), I elaborate. “What am I doing that’s so amusing to you!?”

The laugh bubbles out from his belly. “Just something I never thought you would do: be so  _ patient _ .”

I can feel my good eye twitch. I attempt to school it into submission. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked patience.”

“Patience is as a river: It sculpts beautiful things out of stone, but, over time, it can erode its rock.”

“What does that even  _ mean _ !?” I cry, throwing my arms up in surrender. “Do you want me to be patient or not!?”

“People are fragile stones, Nephew.” The tone is light, but something about the words seems… ominous.

“Like shells?” I tentatively ask.

When Uncle realizes the connection I have made in my mind, his eyes widen, and he shakes his head profusely. “I apologize. I misspoke. You need not act with that looming over you.”  _ That _ being mortality. But here’s the thing about mortality: It’s always there, whether you’re conscious of it or not.

The wind chimes by the door announce Aang’s arrival. His cry “Hello!” does as well, but as the sound of the chimes dies, I feel a sense of renewed confidence. Whatever Aang’s answer is has to be better than the uncertainty of not knowing, right?

No time to dwell on it: I need to move while the wind is at my back.

As Uncle comes out of the kitchen with Aang’s usual order of tea, I stretch my arms out to take it. He smiles at me. I’m careful to only smile back with the side away from Aang. I know that movement on the bad side of my face has been seen as… unnerving. Never told. But I listen. As I walk past him, he whispers in my good ear: “Don’t open with the declaration of love. Just because you’ve watched him for three months doesn’t mean he’s been watching you for three months.”

My traitorous face heats up of its own accord. “I wasn’t going to!” I hiss back. I thought I had said that quietly, but apparently not because as I approach, he’s staring at me. Confused. Probably weirded out. And I haven’t said anything weird to him yet. “Here!” I yelp, trying to keep whatever emotion it is from clogging my throat. Anger? Sadness?

“Thank you,” he says, but it lacks his normal enthusiasm. I suddenly feel like I shouldn’t be around him. He’s a student. Being a student is stressful. Tea is supposed to be de-stressing. I’m inherently a stressor- “Are you OK, Zuko?”

I blink. Not in surprise. Not really. Because he knows my name. It’s not some state secret. (Being secretive, we’ve found, only draws more attention to us. Better to hide in plain sight.) I’ve even served him before, so he could have easily just read my name tag. Or read it right now. (I know he learned my name from Uncle.)

Still, I find myself unable to answer at first. And when I do… “I don’t know.”

He rests his hand on his chin. “You were yelling at your uncle. Are you angry at him?”

The question helps narrow down my response. “No.”

“Oh, that’s good!” he chirps. But then his expression darkens. “Are you angry at me?”

I don’t know how he could ask a question like that while tipping his tea so calmly. If it were me drinking tea right now, I would be spitting out. Likely all over him. So good thing I’m not drinking tea. “No!” I quickly exclaim.

He sips his tea. “Are you angry?”

And that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Well, now I know the answer. “No,” I say. “Just embarrassed.”

He sets down his tea. “Embarrassed to be talking to me?” he prompts.

I laugh dryly. “Just the opposite. Embarrassed that I  _ can’t _ talk to you.”

An awkward silence descends on us like smog. Welp, there goes my chance! I’m searching for Uncle in the haze. He’ll be coming with a menu or a story. Hell, I’ll even take him bringing over his Pai Sho set. “Huh,” Aang says. I jolt before I can stop myself. Stop saying weird things! Stop having a weird face! Just stop  _ being _ weird! “You say you can’t talk to me, but we’re talking right now.”

And his smile clears the smog. I feel like some small, waterlogged creature being dried by the merciful sun. I snap myself out of that train of thought.  _ He’s a  _ person _ , Zuko. An incredibly kind and patient person, but people can be kind and patient. _ I catch the glint of Uncle’s grin out of my peripheral vision. It’s a keep-going smile. So I forge on. “I guess it seems silly when you say it like that….” I admit.

“A lot of our feelings sound silly when we talk about them out loud!” Aang chirps. “That doesn’t mean they’re not real, though! In fact, talking about them makes them…” He considers his words. “...more tangible.” He nods to himself, satisfied. “Yeah!”

“Yeah,” I find myself echoing. Weirdly.

If Aang thinks it’s weird, though, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Well, you talking about your embarrassment made you embarrassed, so it’s time to get even! I’m embarrassed that I never asked this, but… Are you a student, Zuko?”

I blink. I’m expecting a more embarrassing question. It doesn’t come. “Yes. But not here. At one of the community colleges.” I wait before asking an embarrassing question of my own. “Couldn’t you have just asked my Uncle?”

“Well, yeah,” the young man harrumphs. “I could have, but I wanted to ask  _ you _ !”

And just like that, my traitorous brain is cooking up my face to the sizzle of  _ He wanted to talk to you. _ Which is just being nice! Aang is a nice person! My mouth is running before whatever’s left of the logical part of me can stop it: “Well, here I am. Zuko here.”

He already knows your name, idiot!

I’m waiting for the laughter. I’m left waiting. Instead, he joins in the absurdity: “Hi, I’m Aang!” He grins. “I’m a Physics major!”

_ Physics!? _ Physics is hard science! Physics is unraveling the universe! He’s waiting for an equally impressive response, but all I have is the truth: “I’ve been taking culinary arts classes.”

His mouth is hanging open. He’s re-considering his life decisions. Whatever he thought he saw in the mysterious burned man has been unseen. The allure is gone. A noise comes out of him. It takes me too long to register what it is: “Whoa..!” Then, he’s leaning on the table, eyes wide as he asks a completely honest question: “What’s culinary arts?”

I feel an obligation to guide him back down to earth. “It’s just a fancy name for cooking.”

He is unmoved. “Cooking’s cool!”

“Not true!” someone calls from the counter. There could only be one person behind the counter. “Culinary arts encompasses not only the making of food but food science, nutrition, and aesthetics.”

I shoot a glare at Uncle.  _ Now look what you’ve done! Look how cool he thinks I am! _ “And you’re already so good at all those things! Those classes are going to make you even better!”  _ Wait, what? _ Aang grins at me. “Sir Iroh told me! You’re The Jasmine Dragon’s chef!” Ah. This is it. My face is not going to melt from Ozai. My face is going to melt from me. “I did my research! Before you, The Jasmine Dragon just had tea!” Considering the only time I almost died was because of me as well, it’s fitting. “Really good tea!” he amends, for Uncle’s sake because Uncle is choosing not to be discreet, although he is perfectly capable of it. “But only tea!” He’s beaming at me, completely unaware of how I am internally combusting. Sweet summer child. “No need to be embarrassed! That’s  _ amazing _ !”

I do manage to put out the flames. Aang indulges my questions about his field of study. Once I tell him how amazing he is, I feel there’s balance to the inexplicable—I guess unless if you’re a Physics major—universe. Unfortunately, the universe has a different plan for the rest of the day.

Meaning night.

Meaning closing time. Meaning how long had I been talking to Aang!? Aang explains that he has something to go to, and that he may be late, but don’t worry, he’s a fast runner, and he quickly writes something down before, yeah, running fast out the door. “How long was I talking?” I demand Uncle, but he renders me speechless when he presents the paper to me.

It’s Aang’s phone number. I, Mr. “Zuko here”, have a beautiful man’s phone number.  _ Now what? _

“ _ Now- _ ” Uncle says. “You call it.”

“No!” I yelp. “Uncle, that’s  _ weird _ ! People don’t call people! Besides, he just said he has something to go to!”

He raises his hands in mock-surrender. “Forgive me for assuming you love the sound of his voice.”

“That’s weird, Uncle. I like the things he says.” At his appraising gaze, I relent. “And the sound of his voice. But that’s mostly because he’s so genuinely excited about things!” That was the thing that bothered me about Mai the most. The part about her being a woman she couldn’t control. (Rather, the part about me being a man who doesn’t like women that way.) … Actually, now that I think about it, the aloofness was kind of forced upon her. It was a self-defense mechanism. I can’t blame her for that. I don’t blame her for that. Past Zuko, however, would disagree.

Past Zuko wasn’t the best person.

“I’m just sending him a quick text,” Present Zuko decides.

And Present Zuko turns into Future Zuko as he waits for a reply. He gets one after three hours:

**> Zuko here.**

**> Hi I’m aang**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about missing this upload yesterday! No need to worry: This fic is NOT cancelled! I was just really busy yesterday.
> 
> Mentions of nightmares. Iroh talks about war (i.e: killing people). Zuko talks about Ozai (i.e: Ozai burning his son).

“...Are you going to sleep now, Zuko?” I jolt from my phone and whip around at the opposite side of the bedroom. The curtain is drawn back; this isn’t unusual. I was the one who insisted we get it, “for privacy’s sake.” I was a scared teenager. Also, I had never co-habitated before. But since the eclipse, its normal state is drawn back. We use it sometimes, like when one of us is sick, so the coughs don’t go flying into the other’s face. (Although that happens anyway when we’re inevitably the one to take care of the sick one.)

I had never specified which half of the room I wanted, but Uncle figured it out. When I’m laying down, he’s on my right side. So is the exit to the main room in the apartment. Laying down  _ properly _ . Right now, I’m sitting on the foot of my bed, face towards the pillows, which I kept telling myself I would lay down if he didn’t reply within the next 10 minutes-

Three hours later, my neck hurts. The need to twist to look at Uncle properly doesn’t help.

But I don’t regret looking at him so intently. If I didn’t look properly, I never would have seen the puffiness at the corner of his eyes.

In my experience, Uncle mostly cries in silence. “Nightmare?” I prompt.

“Something like that,” he answers, sitting up on his bed. Both of our beds are just mattresses on the floor. Uncle says they’re better for your back? I just think he’s afraid to buy something that the two of us can’t easily bring into our inner sanctum.

He’s not the only one.

As Uncle sighs, his head sinks into his hands. I jam my phone on the charger and sit next to him, wrapping my right arm around his shoulders. They shudder. Not from the inherent shock of being touched. Uncle isn’t as jumpy as me. No, from the shock of being touched by  _ me _ . “Was it about me?”

He nods numbly. “You, yes. And me.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I was back in the Army.” This is not an uncommon setting for Uncle’s nightmares, but they’re usually not the setting for nightmares about me. Those usually take place in the palace. “I was leading another assault on Ba Sing Se. And… You were there.”

“Makes sense. I would have been conscripted in a few years.”

But Uncle shakes his head. “No. It was right after Lu Ten-” He swallows the word. I hold him as his breath quavers. But he does continue. “You were just a boy. And I sent you marching to your doom. You were so excited to prove yourself to me. You said that you’d be the son I lost. You said you’d make me so proud….”

Wow. Present Zuko has never said those things. Not with words, anyway. Still, that must have twisted the knife more for Uncle, since the conclusion of the dream was clear. “But I’m not dead,” I assure him.

“I know,” he murmurs. “But I killed him.”

“Not intentionally!” I insist. “I know my therapist talks about intent-”

“My  _ intent _ was still to kill other people,” he snaps in a very un-Uncle-like way. In that moment, he sounds so much like Ozai that I’m suddenly recoiling from him.

He makes the connection. “I’m so sorry, Nephew,” he quickly apologizes. “I should not have used that tone.” He has the right to, though. He should be angry that he was conditioned to dehumanize others so much, and that the indoctrination, which was so contrary to his nature as a person, was so ingrained that only the grief of burying a child—That’s not quite right; they couldn’t find a body to bury—snapped him out of it. In a way, I’m relieved. It surprises me how big that way is.

“It’s OK,” I say, and I mean it. “Anger is natural.” He gives a sad but proud smile at me. I seize on the moment. “You never intended to cause harm. You were indoctrinated to believe that the killing was actually a kindness. The light of civilization burns. Ozai went into a fight with his 13-year-old son intending to cause harm to him. Maim him or get rid of him or whatever. There was no mercy on his mind. Only punishment.” I squeeze his hand. “Like the nightmares. It’s a punishment too. Just remember that you too deserve mercy.”

He swallows thickly but nods. We sit next to each other. I almost start to doze off, honestly. Good thing Uncle stands up, dislodging me, or I would have fallen asleep in his bed! He chuckles as I recover. “Maybe just one chamomile, then.”

Oh, I’ll always accept something to help me sleep! I trot after him into our private kitchen. I usually end up using the restaurant’s set-up when I’m making food after-hours, but Uncle is very serious about not having contaminating allergens. I clean up whenever I make something not on our menu, though!

And chamomile tea is on our menu. While college students are infamous for pulling all-nighters, we do love to sleep too.

That’s the reason why Uncle doesn’t go down the stairs, yeah.

I settle onto the couch and pull the low coffee table towards me. I’m far less of a messy eater than I was when I arrived here at age 13, but I’m still reeling from the damage I inflicted on the apartment as a teenager. Most of the stains on this couch are from teenage me.

I realize I’ve brought it too close, though, as Uncle comes over. “Sorry,” I mumble. He flashes a no-need-to-apologize smile as he settles in next to me.

Together, we stare at the scavenged CRT television in front of us. It doesn’t work, despite the screen being intact. We don’t need a TV, though. We have a computer! I watch most of my content on YouTube and pirating websites.

Uncle scourges newspapers. Most of the time, he’s only one day behind! I don’t like reading the newspaper, but I am a frequent customer of our local library. Uncle is responsible, so I let him check out books on my account. I’m working through a list of YA classics I’ve heard customers talk about in the restaurant. Uncle is reading The Classics.

I’ll just look up the summaries, thanks.

I finish the tea first. I always do. I don’t feel the need to make every cup last as long as possible. We have plenty of tea. I can always make another one. Still, I wait for Uncle to finish. I clean up our meal.

And then we go back into the bedroom. “Good luck,” I tell him, turning around.

“You too,” he echoes back.


	5. Chapter 5

“Are those… tsungi horns?”

I nearly drop the plates I’m returning to the kitchen at the sound of his voice. “Aang!” I yelp.

“That’s me!” he echoes back. His grin falls into a frown, though, and suddenly getting ahead of the cleaning isn’t important. “Are you surprised to see me!?”

I could say something clever. I could say something  _ flirtatious _ . Uncle has been teaching me. But all of his flirting sounds like, well,  _ him _ . I love my Uncle, but I don’t want Aang to fall for  _ him _ ! So I answer in a quintessentially Zuko way: incoherent mumbling.

Uncle comes in for the save. “To be honest, yes,” he intercedes. “We’ve been hearing from our customers that this is midterm season?” Uncle has had the shop next to the University of Ba Sing Se for years—long before I came in like a wrecking ball, anyway. While we don’t receive an official schedule, the university, like most institutes, operates in patterns. Which is why he frames it as a question of his own: This isn’t normal midterms season.

“You get it!” the young man exclaims, claiming the table closest to our serving counter. “Why don’t the professors?”

“I don’t get it.”

Aang whips around. Wait, did I really say that out loud!? OK. Clearly, today is not going to be a day where I can be a normal person around my… my… my  _ crush _ —I’ll admit that at least to myself. Thus, I should clearly let Uncle handle this conversation. Instead of being repulsed—or worse,  _ amused _ —by my dishevelment, though, Aang nods at me like I’ve said something profound. “That’s because it doesn’t make sense! We have a midterm season for a reason. So we can  _ prepare _ to work our butts off!” It suddenly occurs to him that there is indeed an Adult (™) in the room. “I mean, I work my butt off all the time, Sir Iroh-”

Uncle nips that anxiety in the bud. “I’ve never been to college. It sounds like too much work.”

Even some of Uncle’s friends have made the mistake of chastising him for his lack of higher education or, worse,  _ pitying _ “the opportunity he never had.” Aang, however, does just the right thing with this information.

Which is nothing. “But a bunch of the professors teaching introductory courses decided that this year they would  _ be nice _ and push their midterms to be earlier. Except all of them are doing it! So it’s not nice!” His anger dissolves as he turns to me. “Have you had that happen to you, Zuko?”

“No.” Uncle quirks a brow at me. I follow his gaze. Oh! Aang has pulled out a chair for me! I scurry into it. “No.”

“Well, that’s good!” he sighs. “I was worried that all of the professors in Ba Sing Se were conspiring with each other.”

“Isn’t the problem that they’re not talking to each other, though?” Ah! Why is he suddenly looking at me like I’m saying something profound!?

“You’re absolutely right, Zuko.” He whips out his phone and sends a frenzied text. I can’t see who he’s sending it to you, but considering that my phone doesn’t buzz….  _ He’s a kind person, Zuko. Of course he has other friends! _

_ Oh, are you just a  _ friend _ now? _

I swipe at my face, just in case the burned part of it is twitching. Uncle has told me it does that sometimes when “you are fighting with yourself.” I hate that I can’t feel when it’s doing that.

“Anyway!” I redirect my attention to Aang. “You guys never answered my first question!” He points to the ceiling, although that isn’t where the music is coming from.

I sigh. “Uncle, turn off the joke playlist.”

As a new song starts, Aang gasps. “Hang on! I know this song!  _ Sweet Caroline _ ?”

Uncle laughs. “Yes, yes! The Internet is full of amazing things, isn’t it?”

“Where did you find this!?”

“Oh, I didn’t find these covers. Zuko did.”

And suddenly those shining brown eyes are on me. “Really!? How!?”

“You’re a student too,” I reassure him. “You know how: a YouTube deep-dive, so you don’t have to do your homework.”

Aang laughs. “I do know! Why tsungi horns, though?”

It’s like I have eyes on the wall of The Jasmine Dragon, and they’re watching me. That’s how obvious my blush is: Even I can see it. “I used to play the tsungi horn.”

“You still do!” Uncle cuts in. “Don’t think I haven’t heard you practicing on mine!”

“No way!” Aang cries. “Both of you play the tsungi horn!?”

“I prefer the pipa-” I’m quick to correct, “-but I think it’s a good skill to maintain.” And, really, Uncle’s Pai Sho friends were too kind to get one of each. If we had two tsungi horns and two pipas, where would we even sleep?

“You’ll have to show me sometime!” Aang declares. “I’ve tried the tsungi horn, but I’m really bad at it. I prefer woodwind instruments! Like the flute!” He pantomimes playing the flute, and, really, from how he places his hands alone, I can tell that he really does play it. … Wait, did he just ask for a performance!?

I’m mentally scrambling to figure out the logistics of that as Uncle and I take his order.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of suicide attempts and suicidal thoughts (both as past events). Discussion of racially/ethnically-motivated violence. (AKA: Aang's backstory.) Discussion of abusive parents. (AKA: Zuko's backstory.) Stay safe!

No college student has  _ that _ stable of a schedule. Still, Aang finds it within his individual mess to come regularly. Not “every day” regularly, but once every few days, certainly.

Until he suddenly doesn’t come in for a week.

There are customers who don’t come in for weeks at a time. There are customers who have never even come in for a week’s worth of days. Er, seven days. Seven times.

Ugh, Uncle’s right: I’m worrying about him. It’s not being paranoid, all right? I mean, he’s not even answering texts!

As The Jasmine Dragon closes down for the day, he confronts me about my not-paranoia. “You know, you could go to check up on him.”

“That’s weird, Uncle.”

“If he thinks it’s weird, he can kick you out, but I think if he cared about people being weird right now, he would stave the weirdness off by answering in some way, don’t you think?” I squeak as he ruffles my hair. “In all likelihood, he is feeling too poorly to care about such things right now, and what is better when you are feeling unwell than a warm cup of tea?” He hands an official The Jasmine Dragon thermos—one of my better ideas, if I do say so myself—to me.

The normal thing to say would be, “I’m sure he has people who are closer to him than me to check in on him.” As it would turn out, however, the Zuko thing to say is, “OK.”

OK to what, exactly? OK to heading out into the sunset alone and with the obvious face of The Fire Nation. OK to mean looks at worst and confused pointing at best. OK to flagging down a duo of students who are clearly heading out of class, one in a wheelchair and one with a truly terrible mustache. OK to not commenting on the truly terrible mustache. OK to their questioning about why he’s here. OK to describing his crush to them. OK to realizing that the more dominant one of the two—Teo, he introduces himself as—is definitely on to his crush. OK to accompanying them to Aang’s dorm building. OK to thanking them as they put a lot of trust in this clearly Fire Nation stranger with a very obvious burn wound by swiping their ID to get him in. OK to waving back at them.

_ OK, that was a lot. _ I need a moment to compose myself once I’m in the lobby of the “Spectrum House.” I awkwardly shuffle past the empty box where a security guard would have been in the olden days to read a bulletin board, hoping to find any information about which floor Aang is on on it.

Aang is apparently not one of the floor managers. Ugh, I knew that! He’s already told me that he’s only a sophomore!

“Can I help you?” But  _ she _ is. Kyoshi Abe is a very tall, very intimidating woman, even in the picture. In real life? Even more so.

“Yes,” I squeak because my fear surely smells, so I might as well lean into it! “I’m looking for Aang Beridze, sophomore, Physics major-”

“The Jasmine Dragon?”

“Yes, he goes there.”

“Apparently, so do you.” Implying being the co-owner is only “going there.” I practically  _ live _ at the restaurant! (Well, considering the apartment is right above it, I guess I do.) I nod. “Hang on.” Uh oh. Here it comes. “Are you… Zuko?” And there it is.

“...I can leave, if you’d like.”

“No, I think it’d be better if you stayed. Come with me. Aang’s on the top floor.”

I don’t mind stairs. I really don’t. In fact, most of the time, I take the stairs even though Uncle takes the elevator. This time, though, I’m upset that there isn’t an elevator in this dorm building beyond accessibility concerns.

Kyoshi Abe does not push me down the four flights of stairs. She does, however, practically push me into Aang’s dorm after knocking, hearing the door unlock, and shouting that he has a visitor.

The first thing I see is rainbows. Rainbow flags stretched across each wall. Rainbow stuffed animals on the bed on the right side. Rainbow sheets on the bed on the left side. And within that rainbow-sheeted left side bed, a head poking out of a rainbow blanket. “Z-Zuko?” Aang whispers.

“Hello, Zuko here,” I murmur—because what else is there to say to a man who’s clearly been crying right up until you were slammed in their face? “I brought tea,” I explain. “I can leave. Sorry for this.” I set the thermos on the desk on the left side of the room.

As I turn around to go back out the door, I hear a rustling. I look. Aang is padding over to the thermos. He takes a sip. And then he smiles.

It dawns on me that I recognize that smile.

Which means I really should leave. To my surprise, however, he calls out after me. “Sorry for what, Zuko!? This is my favorite tea! And you’re giving it to me!” He gasps. “I grabbed one of your menus. Gimme a sec to get out my wallet-”

Wallet!? This wasn’t a delivery service! Well, not a paid one. “It’s on me!” I shout back.

A man the size of a boulder opens his door and stares at us in confusion. Ah. I’m standing in the open doorway. Everyone can hear us. “Sorry,” I hiss to the boulder man as I close the door. I turn around to face Aang. “Sorry,” I reiterate.

“No need to be sorry!” he exclaims. “If anything, I’m sorry that you were so worried about me that you felt the need to wander across campus before finally realizing that Spectrum House is the one on the far end of campus, on top of the hill!”

“I wasn’t worried,” I mumble. Even as I say it, though, I know that isn’t right. “I mean, I didn’t wander.”  _ No, that isn’t right either! _ “I was escorted here.”

The sophomore plops onto his bed. “Escorted?” he prompts.

“Do you know a guy with a terrible mustache?”

He smiles. A good smile. A oh-that’s-funny smile. Aang’s oh-that’s-funny smile, as it would turn out, is accompanied by the most wonderfully unapologetic snorting laugh I’ve ever heard. “This is college. A lot of people have terrible facial hair.” He runs his fingers across his bald head. I’m not sure if he’s aware of it, but he does linger on the tip of the arrow tattoo there. “Terrible head-hair too. That’s why I don’t bother with either!”

And, yeah, even in my classes, I’ve made both observations. Heck, I was once someone with terrible head-hair.  _ I can  _ not _ pull off the traditional Fire Nation ponytail. _ That used to bother me. It occurs to me that I don’t know when that stopped bothering me. It is bothering me, though, that my descriptions are so  _ useless _ ! “It’s fine,” Aang reassures me. “I’ll just have to escort you around the rest of campus sometime.”  _ Wait, he can’t just drop something like that and just  _ move on _ - _ “But, uh, later. I… haven’t been having a good week.”

_ Annnd that’s my cue to shut up. _ But Aang is looking at me, waiting for some kind of sign from me. So I give one, whatever it is. “You don’t have to tell me about it. Bad brain things can be hard to talk about.” I hope I pass this test of trust.

“You get it!” He says it so  _ reverently _ , it shocks me. Has no one ever told Aang that grieving never stops forever?

Well, I can’t let that stand! “I think I do get it, yeah.” Ah, and there’s the shaking in my legs. Bad brain things feed into bad body things. “M-M-May I sit down?” Aang gestures to the desk. As soon as I sit, though, I take a deep breath then continue. The longer I linger, the worse it gets. “I know euphemisms for grief can seem… disingenuous, but grief is so big yet intangible that I find I need to imagine it as something that is tangible. Uncle and I have settled on calling our… bad brain things… The Blue Dragon.” Aang has curled himself around the rainbow blanket, but he is sitting up, listening intently. “Uncle’s good at metaphors, as layered as they are. The dragon is a classical Fire Nation symbol-” But the Fire Nation Dragon is always red. Red like the blood its war-mongering leaves behind. Blood like Lu Ten’s. “-but the dragons were defeated. I mean, being mythological creatures, they always find a way to resurface, but-” Aang’s brow is furrowed in confusion. “-that’s one layer of the metaphor. Another layer of it is…” I tentatively run a finger along the edge of my scar. “...fire.”

And I want to talk about it, I really do, because he’s certainly thought about it, but the word gets lodged in my throat. Aang broaches the subject carefully. “...Is it true that burning is a form of corporal punishment in The Fire Nation?”

I blink. “If you think that The Fire Nation goes around burning everyone-”

“No, no!” he interjects. “My roommate’s from The Fire Nation. I know that civil life isn’t as violent as Earth Kingdom propaganda says, but-” I squeeze my knee, trying to will it to  _ stop shaking _ . “-but I know that he isn’t joking about being in danger from…” I watch as his eyes drift towards the rainbows.

“If he’s from a prominent family, yes,” I answer. “Burning is reserved for shaming disgraced members of high society.” What’s that book about Hell Uncle is reading?  _ Dante’s Inferno _ ? “They love to watch Lucifer fall.”

“Well, I think taking enjoyment in others’ pain is shameful.” That is the prevailing sentiment, I believe, even in The Fire Nation—but not among those in power. Like Ozai.

“After my burning, my mental health crashed. I had associated so much of myself with ‘strength’—whatever that means. I decided that my stress with needing to move away from home, suddenly being thrust into a precarious socioeconomic status, my new disability, and the realities of living with trauma…. It had been ingrained in me that my natural stress was, in fact, unnatural weakness. The burning was a test of my strength, as a tendril in the great blaze of The Fire Lord, and I was failing it. I was weak. And so I thought it would make the great blaze stronger if my life was snuffed out.”

“Does that mean you..?”

I wave my hands at him. “I mean, I didn’t! I’m still here! But… I tried. I was 16.”

“...What made you not do it?”

“At the time, I thought it was weakness. I chose to do it on the day of a solar eclipse. In Fire Nation mythology, solar eclipses have always symbolized weakness. I thought that if I… ended it… during a solar eclipse, when the sun came back, it’d be like I did it?” I shake my head. “Never mind. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Aang shakes his head. “No, no! It does! If your death brought the sun back, it would be redemption. A noble sacrifice. It would bring you honor, even in your exile.” I stared at him in shock. “I don’t agree with that, of course, but Roku’s taught me about Fire Nation mythology.” He frowns. “There are a lot of people who kill themselves ‘for the good of the country’ in it.”

I stash away the blip of recognition at Aang’s roommate’s name. I was only 13 when I was exiled, but Uncle spent most of his life in The Fire Nation. He’ll know if Roku really is from a family we would have known. “That’s true-” I tell him. “-and I really thought my death would be something good.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Uncle, obviously.” But then I’m continuing, saying something I never even told him: “But also… the darkness. I thought it would make it easier to jump. Because I couldn’t see the ground, you know? And that was true, but I couldn’t see  _ anything _ , including the mythical dragon’s castle that awaits the honored dead. So fear took over. Naturally. Before I knew it, I was crawling back from the edge—Crawling! Because I didn’t trust my legs to not shake and send me toppling over!—and I was in Uncle’s arms. I spent a lot of time there.”

“Where?” he asks, cocking his head.

“Uncle’s arms. The truth is, after that, I got very sick. Logically, it was because my stress had reached a peak to get me to that point and I wasn’t eating, but… Uncle didn’t tell me that I got sick because I wasn’t taking care of myself. He called it a metamorphosis.”

He links his fingers together in contemplation. “Like… Like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly?”

“Yeah, although he used the metaphor of the lizard shedding its skin. The process is painful, and sometimes the old skin remains in flecks, but the lizard is healthier after doing it.”

“Why not combine our two metaphors?” he prompts.

I cock my head at him. At my confusion, he explains. “It can be a dragon shedding its skin. Dragons are like lizards  _ and _ butterflies!” I had never heard a story likening the mighty dragon to the meek butterfly, but I have also learned that my homeland defines strength too rigidly. I nod in approval.

“Gyatso liked dragons too.”

The significance of this admission does not escape me, nor does the tense of the sentence. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“If only he was the only one…” he sighs. “I was 12.” I jolt. Aang attempted-!? He seems to hear my question before I can say it. “No, I didn’t do that! …Although I thought about it.” He shakes his head. “I was 12 when my home was destroyed.” He traces a finger down his arrow tattoo. “You know I’m an Air Nomad, right?”

How could I not? The Air Nomad tattoo dominates the entire top half of his face, and I know it runs down at least to his neck. More pressingly… There aren’t too many Air Nomads around. “Most of us have  _ integrated _ , know what I mean? Out of necessity. Although the violence continues. But I lived in a  _ real _ Air Temple. With  _ real _ monks. They’re not some fairy tales, although I’ve seen scenes that, at first glance, look like they were pulled from my memories, on the pages of fairy tale books. I was raised by one of the most respected monks in the Air Nomad community.”

“Gyatso?” I ask.

As he nods, he wipes away a tear. “Monks aren’t like what they are in fairy tales. Sure, some of them are fuddy-duddy, but Gyatso was a prankster. Like apparently his son and grandson too. But I never met them.”

“He was your great-grandfather?”

He nods. “I never met my parents or grandparents. Apparently, my grandfather passed away peacefully in his sleep. My parents, though…”

“Anti-Air Nomad violence continues to be a scourge on the world.”

“What are people like that gonna do when there aren’t any of us left, huh!? Doesn’t anyone care about that!? My father didn’t even have the tattoo! They lived in a  _ city _ ! That’s where he met my mother! They met at a  _ burger place _ , for goodness’ sake!” I resist flinching because his anger is righteous. I resist flinching because, even though I am an exiled prince, I still have a measure of responsibility.

Aang’s face falls. “I’m not angry at you, Zuko. I swear I’m not.”

“Even though you now know who I am?”

His mouth hangs open. “Z… Zuko. I  _ always _ knew what you were.” My mouth hangs open even as he continues. “I’m conflicted about them. Honestly, I’m conflicted about myself. I don’t live in a temple. I’m not training to become a monk. I do maintain the diet. I did get the tattoo.” He chuckles sadly. “Although it  _ hurt _ . And another, non-holy one. The other monks would have hated that. Gyatso wouldn’t, though. He was supportive of his grandson leaving. Somehow. I never got to know how he reacted to me leaving….”

“You left? But you were 12?”

His warm brown eyes harden like rock. “I was running away from home.”

“Did you feel unsafe?”

He buries his face in his hands. “No,” he chokes on a sob. “I just thought… They can’t take me away from my great-grandfather if I run away first!” I give him the space to cry. He sniffles as he says, “He was sick. He was dying. But the other monks were more than fuddy-duddy. They were… hard.  _ Hard _ as in  _ rigid _ . I didn’t care if it was  _ difficult _ . I was willing to put in the work to continue the traditions… but not if I wasn’t sure if the traditions were  _ right _ . Why did they used to separate little boys from their parents? Why do they  _ still _ exclude women from living in the temples-?” He cuts himself off. “The Fire Nation attacked. They all died. I had an uncle to raise me, but he seemed to want to forget everything Air Nomad related. I  _ hated _ him for that. Maybe I still do. I don’t know. As soon as I turned 18, I got my tattoo. He didn’t like that. That was fine. I got into college without his help, and I’d live the rest of my life without his help too. I  _ will _ .”

What was I supposed to say to that story? “ _ That’s rough, buddy?” _ No. “It’s OK to give your grief space.”

“Not in the real world,” he snorts.

Maybe I should be upset at his tone, but, truth be told, I am befuddled by the statement more than anything else. “What is  _ the real world _ ?”

“You know, the working world! The jobs world!?”

“The real world sucks. Luckily, you don’t have to go it alone. You can lie, say you’re sick. People tend to respect that more than mental health. If you own your own business, you can just close for the day. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

“Is that why you’re always closed those three days!?” Aang gasps.

“One of them.” I sigh. “But, yeah, I will admit that the working world isn’t kind to those of us with trauma.”

“Us,” Aang echoes.

“Yeah.” I smile. “ _ Us _ .”

“...May I hug you?” I’ve figured out that Aang is naturally a tactile person. According to Uncle, when I was little, I was too? But life circumstances have made me… wary of physical contact. Yeah, I’ll soak it up from Uncle, but he’s  _ Uncle _ . Uncle has held me up as a talented young professional just as steadfastly as he has held me through physical and mental health crises.

I learn that I’ll soak up physical contact from Aang too.


	7. Chapter 7

Aang returns to The Jasmine Dragon a few days after our talk. (Is that what it would be called?) He comes back a few more times, re-settling into his tea-drinking schedule, before he broaches the subject of our talk with me. “You know, I’ve told very few people that story.”

“I can imagine,” I say, although I can do more than imagine. I  _ know _ . I find myself wondering how many people he’s made himself so vulnerable to. I also find myself being ashamed at how I told Aang some parts of my story that I’ve never even told Uncle! I know Uncle won’t be angry, but… I’m angry at myself.

Oh no, he’s still talking. “-you’re part of a club now, you know?”

_ Do _ I know? “No,” I murmur confusedly.

The young man blinks at me a few times. Then, his eyes widen in revelation. “You’re absolutely right, Zuko!” he gasps. “You haven’t even  _ met _ the others!”

The others? There are others? I’m not sure if I want to meet  _ the others _ . They know so much about Aang, and he knows so much about me…. He knows I was a prince! I know that’s not the right thing to say, though, so I get to the heart of the matter: “I’m nervous,” I confess.

Aang’s smile softens. “It’s natural to be nervous when meeting new people.” And, yes, I know that’s true, but is it natural to have your family be so responsible for the destruction of so many other families!? Aang might know this—and accept it, however he has chosen to do so—but it is wrong to expect that acceptance from others. “Tell you what: I’ll bring them over here. To your territory. And I’ll be here too, ready to mediate, should things go sour.”

The thing is, The Jasmine Dragon isn’t my territory. Not mine  _ alone _ . I tell Aang to wait a minute. Uncle is across the restaurant, flirting with a woman around his age. I recognize what kind of ring she has on her finger—and so does Uncle, obviously—but I can tell from the way they’re trading compliments, that they’re both just having fun. I apologize for interrupting them. When I explain Aang’s proposition to Uncle, he lays out the best times to host such a meeting. As soon as I turn around, the flirting begins again.

I must admit: It is reassuring to have regular access to someone who clearly has maintained charisma. At the same time, I am embarrassed that I lack his boldness….

Casting that thought aside, I relay the plans to Aang, who squeals in excitement. “It’s gonna be great!” he cheers.

“Would it be better if I set aside a table..?”

“Uh, yeah!” he exclaims. “A table with…” He counts to himself. “Six chairs! Oh, and a braille menu! If you have one!”

_ Do we have one? _ “Uncle!” I shout across the room. “Do we have a braille menu?”

Uncle apologizes to the woman, bustles around the back, and, to my surprise, does retrieve a braille menu. “Awesome!” Aang cries. “See you this weekend!”

I don’t think I really knew what I had agreed to until Uncle’s friend left with her order and he glided past me with a go-get-it-Zuko smile. I slide into the chair behind the counter.  _ What did I agree to? _

* * *

An anxiety-filled better part of a week, that’s what. I know that wasn’t Aang’s intention—and if I said something about it, he would pull the plug on the operation—but I was shocked by my own intent: I  _ wanted _ to meet Aang’s friends. Of course, there’s the lonely teenager Zuko—he’ll always be a part of me—wanting to gain legitimacy through popularity, but there’s also the well-adjusted-I-think adult Zuko… who is also lonely. He wants friends because he likes people, though, not because he’s craving status!

The evening (If it’s after The Jasmine Dragon closes, it’s evening, OK?) of the big day arrives. After closing The Jasmine Dragon to the general public, Uncle sweeps me away into our bathroom to do my hair.

I blink at the mirror. It doesn’t look any different. “...Was that an excuse for you to hug me from behind for 10 minutes?”

“Are you saying that you hate hugs?” I am quick to refute that claim: I love hugs from him! Uncle smiles reassuringly at me as we both watch my face redden. “I bought something nice for this important meeting of yours, Nephew!” He hands me a bottle.

My brow furrows as I struggle to read the tiny text. “Stuff to help my hair smell good?” I conclude. I open the bottle and take a whiff. “This smells like tea, Uncle.”

“I know!” he chirps. “It was made from authentic ingredients!” Uh oh. That sounds like language used on an overpriced product. I don’t push that point, however, because there is a far more important issue at hand. “The Jasmine Dragon smells like tea.”

“I should hope!” he huffs. Ugh, he doesn’t get it.

I cut past the chaff. “If The Jasmine Dragon smells the same as this stuff, how are they supposed to know about the fancy stuff I splurged on for this meeting?”

Uncle hums in thought. At his outstretched hand, I return the bottle. He peers down at it. “Good. There’s enough for at least one more date.”

“Date!?” I sputter.

“Just remember to pick a place that  _ doesn’t _ smell like tea. Don’t go frequenting rival businesses now!” It is an empty threat, though. No one makes a oh-I-can’t-wait-to-hear-that-story smile while threatening someone.

I’m still stuck on his previous statement, though. “Date…” I repeat to myself. “Well, I need to ask him first. It’ll help if his friends like me, right?”

Oh. Now that’s a really threatening smile. A if-they-don’t-like-you-they’re-missing-out smile. Uncle has always had a hard time associating me with the crimes against humanity perpetrated by The Fire Nation. On one hand, he has a point: I was a child. On the other hand, I was the heir to power. I could have had the power to change things.

I think about the old men slaughtered in the temple, men like the person Aang should have had the choice to become.

The chimes above the door to The Jasmine Dragon jingle.  _ And that is a terrible train of thought to be on when entertaining potential friends, so let’s just turn that switch there, and goodbye! _ “I’ll get a read on them first,” Uncle says. “You work on their order. You can be the topping for their meal!”

“...Uncle, that sounds vaguely predatory. I don’t want friends to eat me.”

“You’re right. That’s a bad metaphor. I’m nervous too..!” Still, he grips the railing and starts down the stairs. The debate of where to sit is settled by the time Uncle arrives with a light greeting—and a braille menu.

“You actually have one!” someone cries excitedly.

_ Score one for Team Zuko! _ No.  _ Score one for Team  _ Friendship _. _ I sneak behind the counter and work on the meals: two orders of fish stew, one order of deep-fried pickled radishes, one order of roasted duck (the spicy variation, bold choice), and Aang’s normal vegetarian order. As Aang’s order comes in, the first of the meals is ready. Steeling myself—and reassuring myself that by being the one to give them their food, I’m already starting on a good note—I head out to the serving area.

I spot Aang’s friends immediately. (I mean, this was part of the point of having this get-together happen outside of normal business hours, but.) There are four of them total.

The first one I see is a short girl with a smooth ball of black hair, almost magical in how neat it is, made all the more distinct by how she stretches her body across several chairs in a show of ownership. She even has her bare feet resting on the lap of the young man next to her! OK, I say “girl,” but Aang told me that they’re all students at the University of Ba Sing Se, so she must be a legal adult. Still, her stature argues against her, and her voice too—“OK, now try this section, Sokka!”

_ Sokka _ must be the young man next to her. Remarkably calm for someone with one woman covering his eyes and one woman using his lap as a footrest, he runs one finger over his ponytail—er, no, he looks like he’s from the Water Tribe, and they call them wolftails there—humming in concentration. “Dragon of the Rest?” he attempts. They will need to rest if they order a Dragon of the West. I developed that dish as a spice-tolerance challenge. College students are, after all, competitive! The woman covering Sokka’s eyes peels her hands back. Sokka whips his head towards her, grinning. “Did I do it, Suki?”

_ Suki _ takes a moment to study her phone and compare it to the menu. “Close,” she gives him. “But  _ R _ and  _ W _ are the same formation flipped, remember?” At his dramatic groan, she wraps an arm over his shoulder.  _ Ah. A heterosexual case of attraction. _ “Hey, you did great! Braille is really hard for sighted people to read, since we visualize the letters differently! But you’ve got it down that  _ V _ looks like  _ L _ !” ...Does it?

The woman on the other side of Sokka harrumphs. “It’s easier if you don’t visualize it at all. The point is to  _ feel _ the letters.” Sokka hands her the menu, and in the lull in the conversation, I catch sight of her eyes.  _ Ah. That’s why she’s so good at reading braille. _

Suki looks across the table to another young woman—also Water Tribe, from the looks of it. ...Actually, she looks so similar to Sokka that I think they might be related. “Wanna have a go at it, Katara?”

_ Katara _ crosses her arms and turns her nose up. Her hair, in loopies—I lack the proper words for it, since it’s a hairstyle that is common neither in my first home nor my second—jangles. “We should stop playing with Toph’s menu.”

“You’re just hungry, Sugar Queen!”  _ Toph _ cackles.

“No, I’m not. I know Aang likes this place-”

Ah, that’s my cue! I amble up to the table. “Hello, Zuko here.”  _ Annnd I’m off to a great start. _ But what do they always say? The show must go on! “I know you must be surprised to see me here-”

Katara cuts him off. “Aang told us that only two people work here. No, we’re not surprised to see you here,  _ Prince Zuko _ .”

I freeze, but suddenly my eyes are shaking in their lids. Where’s Uncle? Oh. He’s coming out of the bathroom. Wait. Where’s  _ Aang _ !? He said he’d be ready to mediate, should things go sour. I could use some mediating right now! I mouth the question to Uncle. He points back at the bathroom.  _ Oh no. _

“You really think Aang is the only one to do some research into you two?” On one hand, that means Aang did not “out” me. On the other hand, you two!?

“Keep him out of it.”

“I’d argue that the man suddenly removed from the line of succession just as his father’s health was failing has some things to answer for too.” What!? Does this person really think Uncle poisoned Azulon!? Uncle was inconsolable with grief at the time!

“Oh, is that our food?” Toph gets up, takes a sniff, and claims the deep-fried pickled radishes. Sokka hisses at her to stop, but I see how his gaze lingers on the fish stew. “Thanks!” She, at least, starts to eat—and is clearly enjoying it.

The lack of support only seems to anger Katara—although I’d argue that it’s lack of support for both of us. As she starts to list the atrocities committed by the Fire Nation military, I…

I run away, OK? I go to hide in the kitchen. Because what am I supposed to do when confronted with the truth?

* * *

I don’t know how much time passes. All I know is that I’m in Uncle’s arms, and as uncomfortable as we are, squatting on the floor of the kitchen, in Uncle’s arms, I am safe.

Except we’re not. She knows who we are. She could tell anyone. (I mean, I’m not under any delusions that we’re not constantly being surveilled by the Ba Sing Se police, but since we’re squeaky clean… except for our various mental health problems… there isn’t anything they can do to us.)

But if Katara tells other students, that could ruin us. Other than the obvious loss of customers, they can cook up rumors that can dog us to wherever we run next. Make no mistake: We love Ba Sing Se, but we love our quiet, unobtrusive life more—and we can live that life anywhere.

Anywhere where we can begin anonymously, that is.

A squeak from behind the counter. “...Sir Iroh? Zuko?” I cling to Uncle’s shirt sleeve when he starts to stand up.

I had thought my message was clear:  _ We need to cut our losses. _ Clearly not because Uncle replies from our floor nest: “Come in, Aang.”

The young Air Nomad does not come in. He stands at the threshold of the counter. He can see us, but he isn’t joining us. It’s respectful. It gives us dignity.

It gives me false hope. I swallow thickly as he speaks. “My friends did not treat you with respect. I apologize. But I know that my words alone are not enough to make amends. They have agreed to apologize as well.”

_ “Even Katara?” _ I want to ask. However, words are beyond me right now.

Toph is the first person he escorts. “Your food is really good.” Aang hisses at her. “Our behavior was really bad. You did a really nice thing for Aang: listening. Not enough people are good at that.”

Uncle looks to me for approval. I shrug. He saw the only thing that really bothered me, and it wasn’t this young woman putting her feet on other people’s laps.

Suki is the second person to arrive. “We’re all a bit prickly. Well, except Aang. That’s why we’re the Gaang.” Despite myself, a snort escapes me at the name. Suki smiles at it. I expect to see a maternal smile; I had discerned that she and Sokka were the oldest of the group. While I couldn’t figure out what their ages are in comparison to me, Uncle has told me that I naturally inspire protectiveness.

Well, protectiveness in  _ him _ . To my surprise, though, what I see is a self-congratulatory smile. I guess the others weren’t too keen on her name for the group at first. Considering that Toph—who hardly seems like the type to mince words—does not correct her now, they must have come around to it. “Yet you didn’t back away, even when Aang was having a prickly time.”

At this point, though, I must interject. “ _ Prickly _ is the wrong word. Prickles can be the result of self-defense, but we should take care not to conflate the sometimes-offensive result with the root cause: pain.”

I immediately want to take my words back because she’s staring at me, slack-jawed. When her jaw snaps back, though, it’s in the form of a grin. “Aang was right! Still, who knew you had a philosopher in you!?”

Uncle holds me closer. “I did.”

She bows in respect to Uncle before bowing out.

Sokka is next. “Suki said it really well. I swear, I’m good at words when I can plan them, but… this wasn’t planned. As Katara’s older brother, I take responsibility for the harm her words inflicted.” I flinch at the offer. Katara is an adult. Can’t she take responsibility? “We talked privately before coming here, and she indicated that she was upset, yet I forced her to come anyway-”

It would seem that Katara would agree. “Stop taking the fall for me, Sokka!  _ I’m _ the one who messed up!” She pushes him aside. As she appears, Uncle instinctively places an arm between her and me. Although, logically, I know that Uncle, from the floor, is severely out-matched by a young woman in her prime, I still feel safe. It unnerves me, though, how she seems to look directly through Uncle to study me. “It was out-of-line for me to lecture you about the atrocities committed by The Fire Nation. You’re the last person who needs to be told. In my research, it was impossible to escape the atrocity they committed against you.”

I prickle. I don’t want pity! And my pain is  _ nothing _ compared to-

“That doesn’t mean I’m ready to trust you on that alone, though,” she continues. “Plenty of people get hurt only to go on and inflict more hurt. Still, you’ve earned the opportunity to earn that trust. The kind of people who go out of their way to comfort and better understand a friend… Well, those are the kinds of people I want to be friends with.”

I’m still unsure about her, but I am intrigued by the others. When she offers her hand, I stand up to take it.

I guess they chose to have this be the note they end on because soon after that, they leave. Well, the others.

Aang chooses to leave on a different note:

**> Hi zuko im sooo sorry i was in the bathroom**

**> It’s fine What were you supposed to do hold it in?**

**> One time i held it in for so long that my entire body cramped!**

And it’s ridiculous, but I laugh at his story of desperately shuffling into a shady gas station, only to be interrupted when the owner heard his moan of relief, mistaking it for a moan of pleasure. When the confusion was cleared up, the gas station owner gave him a lecture about self-care.

“I like this gas station owner.” I yelp and swat at Uncle, snooping over my shoulder.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Time isn't real. Today was Friday in my brain, and so it is. (help school is starting again and my brain is mush)
> 
> Depiction of a medical emergency.

It becomes part of their schedule to eat out at The Jasmine Dragon once a month. It takes a while for the routine to solidify, but it eventually settles into us staying open a little later the last day of the month to host the Gaang.

As it took three months for me to work up the courage to speak to Aang directly, it takes three last-days-of-the-month for Katara to come around.

I don’t blame her for her hesitance. In fact, I thank her every day for her presence in my life.

Because if she weren’t, I would have lost  _ him _ .

* * *

I try to convince them to branch out with what they order. I make it all; it’s all good! Toph and Aang take me up on the offer, but Suki, Sokka, and Katara stick to their preferred orders of spicy, fish, and, well, fish. Still, I do what I can with their restrictive palettes.

To my relief, though, all of them are more adventurous with their tea, and Uncle enjoys treating them to new blends he’s brewed. A few of them have gotten so good at identifying his components that he’s made it into a sort of guessing game.

He is taking out Katara’s order to play that game when it happens.

Having already served them their meal, I have joined them at the table. I am the first to spot Uncle. “Uncle, this is your last one, OK? Aang is about to tell a story about Gyatso!” Since all of us knew about Aang’s great-grandfather, he had started telling stories about the man who raised him, explaining that he wants to write a book about him and that he needs to see if the things he thinks are funny actually are.

Spoiler alert: Yes.

“OK, Zuko, I am coming,” he laughs. “Do not rush me, lest I spill the-” And then he suddenly stops, nearly slamming the tea tray down on the table next to him. His newly-freed arms grope towards his chest, but he suddenly winces, and he drops his left arm to his side.

Katara jolts at the sound. “Mister Iroh?” She turns around and clambers to her feet. “Mister Iroh, can you hear me?”

Uncle nods. “My arm and chest hurt, not my ears,” he answers. “Although I do suddenly feel faint. I apologize. I should not be handling food in this state. I will go upstairs and lay down.” The words come out in pants.

Katara surges forward and grabs him by the shoulders. “Let go of him!” I shout, hurrying to my feet.

She ignores me. “Laying down is a good idea, Mister Iroh, but you will be doing that right here. I believe you are having a heart attack.”

I collapse back into my chair. Sokka takes out his phone and starts dialing. “Are you calling 9-1-1?” his sister asks him. The man nods grimly.

And Katara guides my uncle down to the floor.

And all of a sudden, it’s real. My uncle is having a heart attack. Heart attacks kill people. Just like fire. But Uncle was there for me when I burned. I need to be there for him too! I rush to his side and turn to Katara, who is asking him if he is allergic to aspirin. He shakes his head. She takes out a bottle of aspirin from her purse and hands him a pill, instructing him to swallow it. He does so dutifully. “What can I do to help?” I demand.

“Have you given him aspirin?” Sokka asks as Suki escorts the crying Toph and Aang out of the building.

“Yes,” Katara tells her brother, and then she turns to me. “Keep him calm. Can you do that?”

I nod, and I wrap my arms around my uncle in a gentle hug. “Uncle, do you remember when I wanted to be a duck..?”

“Yes. You insisted on only eating bread and said you needed to sleep in the pond….”

And the wings of the memory guide us until the red lights stream in, and they take Uncle away.


	9. Chapter 9

I have never liked hospitals. I must admit, though, that I do love the Old Wall Hospital. Because they saved my Uncle’s life.

They tell me, though, that they were only able to do so thanks to Katara’s quick actions. “Too many people are not familiar with the signs of a heart attack,” they explain. “And, as such, too many victims decide that it’s ‘nothing to worry about.’ About half of the people who die from heart attacks die within the first hour of symptoms.”

But Uncle has not joined that grim toll. Even so, it is not all good news, as the doctors examine Uncle’s medical history. “I see that you are taking steps with managing your PTSD,” his main nurse says. “But I believe it is now time to prioritize managing your weight.”

Uncle looks away, cheeks red with shame. I squeeze his hand reassuringly. I know that he has found comfort in food after times of great pain in his life, but… “This is a wake-up call,” I whisper to him.

“I know..!” he moans. “But how..? I’ve been overweight for  _ years _ !”

The nurse cuts in. “Losing weight is a process, but it is one we can help you with.” She smiles at me. “And I’m sure your nephew will be eager to help you too.”

I nod vigorously. “Absolutely! We’ll eat vegetables and stuff together, and we’ll exercise together..!” I squeeze his hand and make him look me in the eye. “Uncle, we’re a team.”

Uncle pulls me in for a grounding hug.

The nurse smiles again. “Well, we will be making a more detailed plan than ‘vegetables and stuff’ and ‘exercise,’ but heart-healthy activity is healthy for everyone….”

* * *

We are grateful to Old Wall Hospital, but we are even more grateful when they release Uncle.

And I nearly melt with relief when I see the whole group assembled at The Jasmine Dragon for a welcome home party. I can tell by Uncle’s reaction that he was expecting this. That is so very him, to arrange a party welcoming him home from the hospital in order to surprise me.

It’s him. He’s safe.

I’ve thanked the hospital staff forwards and backwards, but there is still someone I’m missing in my impossible mission to express my gratitude.

I spot Katara talking to Uncle about new medication.

I push past the others to blurt out, “You saved his life!”

Uncle looks over calmly at me, but Katara blushes. “I’m in medical school,” she dismisses. “My goal is to do a lot of that.”

As if that is supposed to dissuade me! “And that doesn’t make what you did any less important. Every life matters. And I don’t say that like you don’t know that! It’s just that… You don’t even like us that much-”

“I’ve liked you both since we decided that we’d earned the opportunity to earn each other’s trust!” Katara shouts. “And even if I didn’t like you, doing nothing was not an option. I’ve done nothing before, when I didn’t know what else to do. I will  _ never _ do nothing again.”

Her voice is quavering. I tentatively step back, but, to my shock, she pulls me in for a hug. “It’s like I was telling Mister Iroh. You’re one of the Gaang. You’re my family. And I protect my family.” She turns on Uncle. “Which is why you’re going to be keeping track of those medications and reporting any side effects, so you can get the treatment that’s right for you!”

“Oh, is it time for the group hug part of the evening already?” Aang cries.

“Don’t be late!” Uncle laughs.

And I’m smushed, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be smushed.

* * *

Aang stays to help clean up, explaining that he was unable to participate in the assembly of the celebration.

Uncle argues that he should help wind down his party, since he is the reason why the mess happened in the first place, but we’re both countering that he needs to rest and recover with almost the exact same wording, although we haven’t said a word to each other yet?

Uncle flashes a don’t-stay-up-too-late-now smile that I don’t trust as he goes upstairs to go to sleep.

“Whoa.” Aang turns to me once Uncle is gone. “We’re in sync!”

“So it would seem,” I say, chuckling nervously.

“Hey.” I’m surprised by how… guilty he seems. “I’m sorry about how I acted back there.”

I blink rapidly. “I… don’t understand. Do you really think I’m so scandalized by you dancing?”

“No, not at the party!” Aang yelps. “Back…. Back during the emergency.”

Realization dawns on me. “Oh. Oh, Aang. It’s not your fault.”

“Well, yeah, but I should have been more  _ helpful _ ! You were helpful to me in my time of crisis, and when it was time for me to reciprocate, I-”

Nope. Not letting that train of thought go. “I don’t like you because I’m waiting for you to  _ reciprocate _ . I love you as you are.” Aang goes pale. “Um, Aang..?”

“Um, Zuko..?” he echoes. “Did you know that you did not say ‘like’ the second time?”

I rewind my statement, and, ah, there it is. It’s out there. “I’d call that a mistake-” I confess. “-but it isn’t.”

“Meaning you really..?”

“Love you? Yes, yes, I do love you. S-S-Sorry if I’m saying it flippantly or you don’t feel the same way or-”

Suddenly, his lips are on mine. I lean into the kiss, just to make sure that there is no confusion about feelings there.

He grins. “I love you too! I can say it with words too!”


	10. Chapter 10

Don’t get me wrong: I have kissed people before. And not even just parent people! I’ve kissed Mai!

But I was never in a relationship with Mai. I knew that. She knew that.

So I had no idea about where to have our first date. Aang, being more experienced than me (having been in one relationship as opposed to zero), offered to take the lead on planning our first date. “And then you can do the second one! You’ll have a model to work off of!”

That seems logical, after considering it, in the way that many things Aang says make sense after consideration.

What is  _ illogical _ is how it all went wrong. I did everything right: eating vegetables and stuff, exercising with Uncle, washing my hands frequently….

And, still, come the morning of my first date, I wake up with a fever.

According to Uncle, anyway. I feel cold. “Chills and fevers can co-exist, Zuko,” he advises, showing me the thermometer as proof.

“I don’t understand…” I murmur. “I was fine yesterday….”

Uncle sighs. “Alas, flu symptoms often do come on suddenly…”

“Flu!?” I sputter. I wave him away and grope at the blinds between our beds. “Uncle, you need to stay away from me,” I tell him once I’m secured.

“Zuko, you are sick.”

“I know that, but if you get this, you’ll be sicker.”

I hear Uncle deliberate over the issue, but eventually, silence reigns between us. Because I’m right. It’s awful, but I’m right. And I hate it.

I hate how much I want someone to cart their fingers through my hair or hug me or make me tea. But I need to be  _ responsible _ .

Responsibility sucks.

**> Aang I’m sick**

**> Oh no zuko that suucckkss**

**> I know I’m sick**

**> Ill be right over!!! <3**

**> No Aang you don’t understand I have the flu**

**> Oh i understand <3 <3**

I think that sounds ominous, but that’s a problem for Future Zuko. Present Zuko is going to take a nap.

* * *

It’s the nicest fever dream I’ve ever had: Aang is carting his fingers through my hair from where he is hugging me and has a cup of tea in his hands. It smells like Uncle’s ginger green tea blend. That’s nice. Usually, my fever dreams involve a lot more burning.

“Zuko, come on, you need to drink something. Hydrate or diedrate!”   
  
“That is not encouraging!” Huh. Uncle in my dreams usually sounds way more encouraging.

“Sorry, Sir Iroh!” Dream-Aang re-directs his attention to me.

Wow, he’s dreamy. “Can’t wait for our first date….”

“Ooh, good point, yeah, this probably doesn’t count.”

“Yeah… Dreams don’t count…” I agree.

Aang peers past the curtain. “If it’s a good dream, let it go,” the curtain says. Such a nice curtain. It sounds like Uncle.

I love my Uncle. I also love Aang. “Aw, I love you too!” he coos. “But I don’t love you being sick, and in order to be not-sick, you need to drink your tea then close your eyes but not before listening to me because I can play this role more safely than Sir Iroh! So… First, drink your tea!”

* * *

What a strange fever dream. In the dream, Aang seemed to think coaxing me into drinking Uncle’s ginger green tea counted as a first date?

Unfortunately, the fever is not a dream, but luckily, the Aang part-

-is also not a dream. I pull the blanket over my head as I burn with shame. “Did the tea help? Your fever has gone down some!”

“This is  _ not _ our first date,” I declare to the world.

“I know. You told me,” the world answers back. “But before our first date, you need to get better!” The blanket is pulled down. Aang is grinning. “I love you as you are, but I want to reciprocate too!”

And, suddenly, it’s a lot less of a time of crisis.


End file.
